


//fractions//

by SomeRainMustFall



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, Abuse, Angst, Captivity, Dani Powell Whump, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gil Arroyo Whump, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, JT Tarmel Whump, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Multi, Other, Protective Gil Arroyo, Torture, Whump, he surprisingly gets a few, other warnings will either be the prompt itself or in the beginning notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: Malcolm (and the team...but mostly Malcolm) in 100 terrible, whumpy situations. List of prompts inside!
Comments: 200
Kudos: 101





	1. "Don't Touch Them"

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy! :3
> 
> All prompts listed [HERE!](https://asmolwhumper.tumblr.com/post/613116120443060224/100-drabble-challenge-whump-edition)
> 
> Warnings for 1: implied torture, implied threat of assault

“Please.”

The killer—their abductor—crouches down before him and smiles.

“Please what?" 

Gil shudders. He cradles Malcolm’s motionless body against his chest, hears Dani behind him, crying softly over JT’s wheezing.

"Don’t touch them anymore.”

The man hums, pets through Malcolm’s hair until Gil turns away.

“I’ve enjoyed it, though,” the man says. “They can really take a beating. And this pretty one…well, there’s other things I’d like to do to him.”

“I can take more,” Gil says. 

“Oh?” Hands close into his shirt. He has to drop Malcolm as he’s forced up.

“I suppose we’ll find out.”


	2. Torture

The strain in his arms is too much. They’re being ripped straight out of his joints in this position, hung from the ceiling from chains and hooks.

“I’ll ask again,” the man before him says, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up. “When will my brother be coming home?" 

"I’m not a cop!” Malcolm gasps. “I can't—”

The man tugs the chains tighter on a pulley. Malcolm screams, feels something in one of his shoulders tear. 

“He murdered ten people, he’s not—" 

Tighter.

" _Haa_ —I— _can't_ —”

And tighter.

Malcolm’s vision goes black.

He wakes, and it starts again.


	3. Forced To Watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for torture/beatings

Gil doesn’t want to cry.

He grits his teeth, clenches his numb hands into fists, tied behind him, and watches in forced silence as they beat Malcolm to a pulp in front of him.

“Goddamn, kid,” one of them says. “You still tryin’ to get up? That’s impressive.”

Gil groans, whimpering behind the tape covering his mouth. Malcolm looks up at him, blood covering his face, and forces himself to his knees only to be kicked down again. 

They kick, and punch, and beat, and pleading isn’t able to stop them.

Gil doesn’t want to cry, but he cries anyways.


	4. Held

The man is crushing him, arms thick as trunks wrapped around his chest.

“I think I’m going to take you with me, boy," the man says, and Malcolm digs his nails in. 

“They’re—c-coming—” he gasps, wishing they would come sooner, wishing he’d waited for backup.

“Not fast enough,” the man says, kicking open the window to the fire escape. "You're mine now. I’ll take care of you.”

Malcolm tries to shout, but he’s held too tight to gather the air to raise his voice. Instead, he whispers, “Gil…” as the man exits down the ladder, taking Malcolm with him.


	5. Bruised

Dani is looking at him strangely, but Malcolm doesn’t follow her gaze right away, caught up on the single curl on her cheek, the one he wants to reach out and brush back into place. 

“Your sleeve,” she says, and he finally glances down to where his shirt cuff has pulled up to reveal the dark bruising around his wrist. 

“Oh,” he mumbles, yanking it down and flushing. 

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” he says, biting his lip. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

She takes his hands, and he gasps quietly. 

“You’re not nothing, Bright.”

She’s wrong, but he appreciates it nonetheless.


	6. Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o wow look...comfort :o

The phone ringing wakes him up, and slowly Gil answers it. “He…llo?”

“…Gil?" 

Immediately aware, Gil sits up. "Kid?”

“Sorry…it’s late… shouldn’t’ve called…”

“Bright. What’s wrong?" 

There’s a sob on the other line. Malcolm sounds drunk, his voice cracked, words slurred.

"I’m losing my mind, Gil,” he whimpers. 

“Did you hurt yourself?”

A pause. “Not yet.”

“I’m coming over. Stay where you are. Stay on the phone.”

He finds Malcolm half-naked, curled into himself in the tub, and climbs in to sit beside him. It’s not comfortable, but Malcolm needs him.

“You’re okay,” he says.

“Only with you.”


	7. Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for non-graphic broken bones

"You silly little bird."

Malcolm whimpers. He lays strapped to a metal table, naked, shivering violently in the cold. "Please…I'm s-s-sorry."

His captor smiles, pressing the hammer in his hand against Malcolm's leg.

"Don't! Don't! I'll be good, please!" 

Not this. He won't be able to escape again if—

"You tried to leave your nest," his captor says, petting him gently.

He brings the hammer down, and Malcolm's cry of agony is without sound. 

"Now you can no longer fly."

He smiles, and goes for the other leg.

This time, Malcolm screams, but it still doesn't feel loud enough.


	8. Rescue

The house seems to be empty. Gil almost thinks he's not here.

And then he hears it.

A whimper. Soft and frightened, coming from the closet.

"Malcolm?"

Another whimper, a bit louder.

Gil opens the door, and Malcolm cries out, curling into himself.

He's dirty, in nothing but his underwear, and covered in dried blood and bruises.

But he's alive.

"Malcolm."

Malcolm looks up, big blue eyes full of tears and pain, and then he gasps.

"G-Gil," he whispers, and then wails, latching onto him.

Gil hugs him tight, eyes closed, and says, "Oh, Malcolm. You're safe now. I promise."


	9. Helpless

Malcolm is screaming. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t mean to. It just hurts, it hurts so much, and he can’t keep quiet anymore like he’s been trying.

“Stop it!” he hears JT shouting, “Stop! Stop!”

The man in front of them doesn’t. He keeps the cattle prod against Malcolm’s skin until it’s seared and burned and it’s all Malcolm can smell, and then lets him slump in his chains.

“You want some, too?” the man asks, shoving it into JT’s chest, and Malcolm is helpless, twisting and turning, to do anything but watch. 

“Stop!”

The man grins, and doesn’t.


	10. Happy?

Malcolm looks at Ainsley across the table, and his mother at the head. He looks down at the food he doesn’t want to eat, and feels a pang in the stomach he doesn’t want to fill. 

“How was your day?” Jessica asks, and the second Malcolm opens his mouth, Ainsley responds. 

She wasn’t talking to him. That’s right. She doesn’t want to hear about him visiting his father, or the college classes he never goes to.

He’d rather be with Gil, with Jackie, but this is his family.

This is it.

So he smiles, and he listens.

Happy...or something.


	11. "No"

It’s a truly loaded question that he’s been asked. 

There’s a hundred answers he could give, none of which seem to be the best idea. 

Too much can come out if he’s truthful. He trusts, but...is it enough?

Yet it will be obvious if he lies. There’s a bruise on his cheek from their suspect’s fist, but he knows that’s not entirely the reason for being asked.

Quietly, Dani repeats herself. 

“Are you okay?”

He swallows hard.

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?” he asks, and she nods. Takes his hand and smiles.

“Then...no,” he admits. “No, I’m not.”


	12. Confusion

Slowly, Malcolm opens his eyes. He’s in someone’s arms. There’s something wet in his hair, and it hurts. He doesn’t like it.

He looks up, and JT’s mouth is moving as he glances down at him, but Malcolm hears nothing but a vague, muted hum.

“Now’s no time for a nap, my boy,” Martin says to his left, but JT is running, leaving the image behind.

“J…” he mumbles, and JT squeezes him. 

“‘S okay, kid. We’re getting out of here.”

“Okay,” Malcolm says, nuzzling into him. His father is wrong...he thinks it’s a fine time for a nap.


	13. Broken

“I can’t do this anymore." 

He’s lying on his couch. Alone, always alone, but he’s who listens best, anyways. 

"I just can’t.”

Eve doesn’t want him anymore, because he’s broken. Dani could never want him, because he’s broken. His family is ashamed, because he is so, entirely, completely broken.

And there’s nothing he can do to be fixed.

His phone rings. He picks it up with his shaking hand.

“Got a case here,” Gil tells him. “Feeling up to it, kid?”

“Always,” Malcolm says.

It’s a lie, but he doesn’t think it matters as long as no one ever knows.


	14. "Let's Have Some Fun"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for implied/off-page assault

Malcolm’s known suffering his entire life, and yet, these men have given more pain to him in half a day than he’s given himself in thirty years. They beat him until Malcolm is spitting mouthfuls of blood and curled into himself.

He doesn’t try to protest anymore. Last time he spoke, they beat the others harder. So he’s quiet.

They only want him. Fine. As long as the others are okay.

“Let’s really have some fun,” one of them says with a grin, starting to undo Malcolm’s shirt. “Anything to say?”

Malcolm whimpers, shakes his head, and closes his eyes.


	15. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for unusual self-harm

It’s not self-harm.

Gil would be proud of him for finding another way to cope, to _control_ , to feel _relief_.

He counts to ninety before taking another breath, and the chair jerks from the force of his gasp.

"Are you okay?" 

He looks up at Dani, wide-eyed and trying to shake the daze.

"Yeah,” he says, grinning. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She looks him over. Malcolm can read doubt, confusion, and a bit of annoyance in her expression. 

She thinks he’s a freak, and she’s right.

He holds his breath again when she leaves, but this time it’s for punishment.


	16. Blood

He brings himself up to his knees, and the world tilts. Blood pours from his nose, and he whimpers without meaning to.

He’s trying to be strong. Dad always told him to be—

“Your dad’s a monster,” they say, kicking him. “And so are you.”

He curls into himself, and they spit more insults at him and then walk off laughing as they always do.

“They were mean to me, Mom,” he says when he gets home.

She has one of their housekeepers tend to him, and sends him to bed.

“I’m sad,” he says, but there’s no one listening.


	17. Grief *MCD*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for MCD

“I’m so sorry.”

Malcolm gathers as much of Dani up into his arms as he can, burying his face into her hair. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go. You’re my friend. I think I love you.”

She doesn’t move. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth.

She’s gone.

Malcolm is alone.

Her killer laughs from the corner, sharpening his knife.

“You’re next,” he says. “But I think I’ll make some designs on you first.”

It doesn’t matter anymore.

She’s gone. Malcolm’s lost her. He’s going to die before he can even properly grieve.

It’s what he deserves for failing her.


	18. Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for urge to self harm

Things are…distant, today.

Malcolm doesn’t feel anything at all. 

He goes through the motions of life, of his job, of his profile, the case. 

But, in his mind, he’s present for none of it. He zones out, stares off, comes back only to do it again.

It’s not a rare feeling. He knows how to fix it.

Instead he follows Gil to his car that night and clings to him.

“I want to cut,” he says.

“Thank you for trusting me, kid. Let me fix you dinner…you can stay at my place. Okay?”

Malcolm’s smiles, and nods. “Okay.”


	19. Breathe

Gil isn’t moving.

Gil isn’t breathing. His lips are blue. 

He’s dying.

Malcolm can’t let him die.

“Please no. No!” He continues CPR, again and again.

He can’t be dead. He can’t be. No. No—

Gil gasps. He breathes. He coughs up water and groans, and Malcolm cups his cheeks and cries.

“Gil! Gil…oh, God…”

Gil groans, eyes flickering open. He looks up at Malcolm and smiles, so weakly.

“An angel?” he croaks, and Malcolm sobs. 

“Stupid old man,” Malcolm says, burying his face in Gil’s chest. “Don’t you ever leave me.”

Gil hugs him, and promises he won’t.


	20. Apology

Malcolm hesitates.

He doesn’t want to do this. He’s afraid.

What if Gil doesn’t love him anymore? 

He squirms outside Gil’s office, then knocks on the door. He hears Gil sigh loudly from inside before telling him to come in.

“Gil…” he starts, but the moment he enters he sees Gil’s face is stained with tears.

“I almost lost you again,” Gil says, slumping down in his chair. “Bright…please. Stop running off! I don’t want to lose you!”

“I’m sorry.” Malcolm comes closer, and Gil presses his head against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, kid. I know.”


	21. Safety

Gil smells like cinnamon today. 

Sometimes he smells like amber, or myrrh, or patchouli. Whatever the scent, it’s all familiar by now. Twenty years and Gil has only a few colognes he regularly uses, and, to Malcolm, it’s all just Gil. It’s warmth. It’s love. It’s safety. It’s whatever he needs, whenever he needs it. 

He breathes in deep and curls closer. Tears are drying on his face. Another panic attack quelled into serenity by the soothing rubs of Gil’s hand between his shoulders, the grounding grasp at the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Malcolm murmurs. 

“Anytime, kid. Anytime.”


	22. Fighting Back

Malcolm isn't a fighter.

He talks his dangers down, charms their guns to point away from him, practically makes them put the cuffs themselves half the time.

Sometimes, they don't listen.

Sometimes, they attack.

Malcolm doesn't want to hurt anyone. He knows they weren't born broken. Somebody broke them.

And if they get a few punches on him, he deserves it. He deserves it for those he couldn't save. He deserves it for ever being born in the first place.

Still, he fights. He stays alive another day, no matter how little he wants to.

He stays alive for Gil.


	23. Punishment

“Wake up.” 

Malcolm grimaces, opening his eyes. He was never entirely asleep, in far too much pain, drifting in and out as he hangs from the ceiling. 

“You’ve been a bad boy,” the man coos. “Biting my hand while I try to give you water? Ah, ah. Unacceptable.”

“Gonna…torture me…more?” Malcolm asks.

The man doesn’t say anything, just grins. He unhooks Malcolm’s bound wrists, tossing him over his shoulder, and Malcolm’s whimpering is what wakes JT.

“Wh…wha…“ JT groans, coughing. "where’re you…takin’ him?” 

“For punishment,” the man says, and leaves JT to shout his protests alone.


	24. Death *not MCD*

"I'm scared."

Martin looks at Malcolm, and he doesn't know why. He doesn't want his son afraid of anything. Fear is worthless. Fear prevents work from being completed properly.

Still, because he's a good—no, a perfect father, he offers his lap, and Malcolm climbs up into it like he has for the past eight years of his life and clings.

"Why, my boy?"

"I don't want you or Momma to die," he whimpers, sniffling quietly.

"Oh, my boy," Martin says, holding him close and petting his hair. "Don't worry. There are things out there far, far scarier than death."


	25. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for implied, off-page assault.

JT is afraid.

He doesn't like to admit his weaknesses. He usually doesn't have any. His goes through case after case with ease, even the hard ones. At this point in his life, after years in service, he's a master at repression.

But he's hardly afraid for himself.

He's afraid, mostly, for Malcolm, who he hasn't seen in hours.

Malcolm, who he's starting to fear is dead.

And then he's dragged back in, tied back up.

Unconscious.

Naked.

And covered in blood.

"Bright! No! Wh—what did you d- _do_ to him?"

The man only smiles, and leaves them alone.


	26. Flinch

He’s caught up in his head, yet again. He’s not paying attention, not even thinking of his profile. 

He’s thinking of the blood.

He’s thinking of bright red seeping through white, as his father staggered back and collapsed, face twisted up in agony from the ice-pick in his heart. 

The ice-pick Malcolm had placed there.

_My boy_.

Someone touches him, and he flinches, nearly falls out of the chair.

Dani steps back. She’s holding a cup of tea, a second placed beside his hand. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Sorry,” she says, and he smiles weakly.

“Me too.”


	27. Forgiven

"Things shouldn't have gone the way they did."

Malcolm sucks on his lower lip. Jessica touches the bruise she gave his cheek that morning, and Malcolm can't stop himself from flinching. It hurts more inside than anything physical.

"I'm sorry, love," she goes on.

It's not the first time, but Malcolm hopes it will be the last.

_'Mom—you're hurting me! Please!'_

He flinches again.

Pauses.

And then, so softly, he says, "It's okay."

It has to be. He has so, so few people who love him in his life. He can't risk losing any. Any _more._

"I forgive you."


	28. Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for implied, off-page, extremely dubious consent.

He needs it. 

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to need it, or want it, or be so desperate for it. 

His dealer looks at him expectantly, waiting for payment. Malcolm sticks his hands in his pockets, knowing just money isn’t good enough.

He could leave.

He imagines how disappointed his mother would be, seeing him like this. 

How disappointed Gil would be.

He could call Gil. He could say he needs help.

His dealer sighs, ever impatient. “Do you want the shit or not?” 

Malcolm licks his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, and gets down to his knees.


	29. Brainwashing *MCD implied*

“Malcolm?” 

He doesn’t respond. Gil doesn’t even think Malcolm hears him. He just stares blankly ahead.

He just stares down the barrel of the gun, pointed at Gil’s head.

“That’s it, my boy,” his father purrs. “Good.”

It’s the first time either of them have been seen since Martin escaped prison. Two years nearly to the day, and there’s nothing in Malcolm’s eyes that shows recognition. He’s drugged, surely. 

“What did you do to him?”

“Oh, gave him this and that. Listens like he was always supposed to now. Watch.”

He pets Malcolm’s hair, and says, “Fire.”

And Malcolm does.


	30. Illness

Malcolm is sick.

It’s not a cold, nor the flu. It’s not something that can be cured, or that has a treatment.

He can take as many pills as he wants,go to as many therapy sessions as possible, and it isn’t going to go away.

It’s something inside. 

There’s something deeply wrong with him, somewhere inside.

And he’s scared. 

He’s more scared of it than he’s been of anything in his entire life.

It’s him. 

His blood

The same type of blood that runs through The Surgeon. The same DNA. 

The same illness, he fears.

More than anything, he fears.


	31. Caretaker

Gil sighs, slipping into the precinct’s bathroom, wetting a few neatly folded paper towels from the break-room with water.

“I told you to stay home until you felt better,” he says, shaking his head, and Malcolm heaves again, hand trembling as he grips onto the toilet. 

“I—I—” he chokes, and Gil kneels down behind him, supporting him with an arm wrapped around his chest and dabbing the towels against his forehead.

“It’s alright. I gotcha, kid.” 

Malcolm whimpers softly, and Gil kisses his head, waits until he’s done and steady before driving him home and tucking him into bed.


	32. Amnesia

“Hey, kid.”

He looks up, smiling at the kind man who keeps coming to his hospital room, holding his hand and touching his cheeks and neck in a way that feels almost familiar, but not quite. 

“Hi,” he says. “Where’s the lady?”

The kind man swallows hard, and asks, “Jessica?”

“Yes,” he replies. “She gave me jello. I like her.”

“Yeah,” the kind man says, tearfully. “She’s…your mother. You don’t remember?”

“Still blank,” he says, tapping his head and sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Malcolm.”

That word he keeps saying confuses him. 

Malcolm…?

No, he doesn’t know who that is.


	33. Hopeless

Malcolm can’t do this much longer. 

He spits blood, picking himself up onto his elbows, and looks up through bleary vision, one eye squinted shut.

“You’re goddamn pathetic, Whitly,” the man says, rolling up his sleeves, just like the man before him, and the one before that.

He’s a good fighter, but this..

Dani cries out, so clearly his name even with the gag. He looks back at her, and knows that if they decide to put her in his place, he’ll be hopeless to protect her.

He wipes his mouth, gets to his feet, and gestures the man closer.


	34. Forced To Enjoy It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love taking these in the really weird non-obvious direction.

”Open your goddamn mouth, _boy._ ”

Malcolm gags, trying to twist away from the spoon of disgusting mush the man has at his swollen, bruised lips. 

His captor growls, pinches Malcolm’s nose shut, and waits until he gasps for air before shoving the "food" in anyways. He slides it off on Malcolm’s tongue and holds his jaw and nose again, giving him no choice but to swallow.

“That’s it. Good boy. Yum, yum, huh? Good, isn’t it?”

Malcolm leans over and throws it up, coughing, his stomach aching, eyes watering.

“Well,” his captor says, smirking, “Maybe fourth’s time the charm, hmm?”


	35. Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of self-harm.

There’s not many things that Malcolm doesn’t blame himself for.

The scars on his body. Those are his doing.

The pain in his mother's life. That's his fault, too. 

His father, in jail, and those victims, murdered. Both entirely his fault. 

Sometimes, he makes more scars. It doesn't seem to matter, when he's covered in so many.

Sometimes, he causes more pain. Maybe it's revenge.

And sometimes, he loses more people, people he should have been able to save on their cases.

Always, it's him at blame. And no matter what, that will never change.

It’s what he deserves, anyways.


	36. Bleeding Out

“You’re not going to die.”

Malcolm presses harder on JT’s chest, blood seeping out between his fingers, and JT grunts in pain, chuckling breathlessly.

“Knew…you’d be the one…to get…me killed,” he says, and Malcolm cries out. 

“No, no, no! I didn’t—I didn’t mean to! Please, JT, wait, just—”

“If only…you’d…waited,” JT says. “Done…as you were told…wouldn’t…have killed me.”

His eyes roll back, and Malcolm sobs. “No! No, no—

_“No!”_ he shrieks, jerking upright in his bed, soaked in sweat with tears down his cheeks.

Just a dream. 

For now, he fears.


	37. Escape

”Bright!”

Malcolm comes to with a jolt, fearful and trying to protect himself from the hands on him, groaning, “Please....d-don’t…”

“It’s me, kid!”

“G...Gil…?” he whimpers. Not their captors coming to torture him more, _Gil._ Gil, who has always been kept away from him, in a separate room, the two of them only able to listen to each other scream in pain as they were abused.

“Yeah. It’s me. Ssh. Come here. We’re getting out of here.” 

Despite his own injuries, Gil lifts Malcolm up into his arms, kicks the door open, and, holding him close, they escape.


	38. Fall

Malcolm doesn’t remember how he got so close to the edge of the fire escape. He only knows how easily their killer shoved him back, bending him backwards over the railing, hooking an ankle behind his, and shoving him over.

Malcolm falls in slow motion. He knows he cries out, and he somehow flips over onto his back midair as he falls, falls, three stories and lands—

Straight inside a dumpster, cushioned just enough to survive. 

His lungs ache with air he can’t yet inhale, and he thinks it’ll be okay, until his team finds him, to close his eyes.


	39. Burns

Their captor smiles. He looks deranged.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, as if to comfort him. He approaches where Malcolm is tied down, shirtless, and brings the branding iron closer to his chest, until he can feel the heat. He whimpers into his gag, refuses to look to where Gil is struggling beyond the man against his restraints.

Malcolm only looks at the man, defiant as he can be in the face of permanent disfigurement.

“You’re brave,” the man says. “That’s why I have to break you.”

He presses down, and Malcolm screams until his voice gives out.


	40. Transform

Malcolm chokes on the water John pours into his mouth, shivering and shaking under his touch as he pets his hair, cradles him in his lap. 

“So beautiful,” John says, “my beautiful little Malcolm.”

Malcolm swallows hard, fighting against the withdrawal’s nausea. 

“S-sick, J-John,” he whimpers. “S-sick. P...please...my...p-p-pills…”

“I’ve told you,” John says, kissing his fever-hot forehead. “You don’t need them anymore.”

Malcolm tries to protest. Instead he throws up, just missing John’s knee as he turns his head.

“Oh, Malcolm. When you come out of this, you’ll have become something better. Transformed. I promise you that.”


	41. Robotic

For a while after their rescue, Malcolm doesn’t speak, nor react as if he knows where he is most of the time. 

None of them blame him, nor try to push him. They all know what he went through. 

Instead, they do what they can to make it better. They offer him homemade meals. They bring him gifts, lollipops, candies, flowers. 

Malcolm looks at them, and most of the time he smiles. 

Sometimes, he doesn’t. Sometimes he moves stiffly, blankly stares, becomes just a robotic impersonation of what he thinks is expected of him.

He’ll be okay, eventually. 

They hope.


	42. Relentless

It hurts.

More than anything in his life before, it hurts. 

And he hasn’t been touched yet.

The men relentlessly beat Gil down until he can’t keep quiet anymore. Until his defiant silence turns into grunting, and then whimpering, and then crying out, begging for them to stop.

Malcolm sobs against his gag, fights against the two men holding him steady.

With one last blow, Gil loses consciousness. He slumps, chest heaving, and Malcolm shrieks.

“Don’t worry,” one of them says. “You’re next.”

They drag Gil away, throw Malcolm into the fighting ring, and say, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”


	43. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 43 was actually a repeat of bleeding out, so I just replaced it with a word that wasn't on the list :P

Again and again, Malcolm wakes up hyperventilating. He wakes up gasping, shaking, terrified.

Sometimes he remembers his nightmares. Usually he doesn't. Usually the panic is the only thing he knows when he comes to.

Sunshine flutters to his side, nuzzles into his neck, and kisses away tears. 

It helps, and it doesn't. Sometimes he can catch his breath. Most times he sobs until he's running to the bathroom to heave into the toilet, slumping onto the rug after to slowly, slowly recover.

It hurts. Sleep hurts. He doesn't want to do it ever again.

His body, usually, seems to agree.


	44. Friendship

"Hey.”

Dani jumps, just a little. The case has left them all on edge, and Malcolm regrets not being a little softer.

“Sorry,” he says, and clicks two cups together. “Tea?...Friend?”

It’s become a tradition, one she’s more than thankful for. She nods, smiling, and they drink together in silence for little while.

“I was scared,” she finally says, and he shifts around, nodding.

“I know. Me, too.”

“We could have died.”

“We could always die.”

She laughs, taking another drink as if in cheers. 

“But...no,” Malcolm says, and gently takes her hand. “I’d have protected you. Promise.”


	45. Frozen

"It b-b-burns!” 

“Ssh, I know—” Gil says, trying to soothe the kid as he finishes peeling off his clothes soaked with lake water, pulling him close against his body and then wrapping blankets around them both. 

“T-too h-hot!” Malcolm whimpers, trying to squirm away, and Gil holds him tighter.

“Bright! I have to get you warm or you’re gonna die!” 

Malcolm groans, but finally stops moving, allowing Gil’s heat to leech into his frozen body, starting to shiver again.

“I told you to wait,” Gil says in his ear. “You don’t ever listen!”

“S-s-sorry, G-Gil.”

Gil sighs. “I know, kid.”


	46. Undead

Malcolm doesn’t breathe, as many chest compressions as Dani gives him, as many as Gil does when she’s crying too hard to continue. He doesn’t start to shiver, as close as JT holds him to his body, trying to give his body heat over to the kid who spent nearly five minutes under the frozen lake while they searched for him.

The ambulance comes, takes him away.

They know he’s dead.

And then he’s not. His heart starts, nearly two hours after.

He comes back, coughing and breathing in life, and lives.

It’s the first miracle that they’ve ever seen.


	47. Perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for vague implication of future assault (or not, if he's rescued...:3)

"Oh, look at you.”

Malcolm trembles. His hand tremors so hard that it rattles the old, creaky headboard his wrists are tied to, have been for as long as he’s been awake.

“You’re perfection, aren’t you?” 

His captor slides up beside him on the bed, wrapping an arm around him, and Malcolm holds back any whimper of fear, any noise of terror, and shakes harder.

“Absolutely beautiful. I’m so happy I found you.”

Found. Abducted. All and the same in this man’s vocabulary.

“Let’s get to know each other better, yes? I know your life...now I’ll tell you mine.”


	48. Nature

Malcolm loves the rain. 

It patters on the ground, on his clothes, his face when he tilts it up to the sky, soothes him into a beautiful state of relaxation that he rarely feels. 

He closes his eyes, holds his arms out in the middle of the empty street, and lets it wash away everything that hurts. 

It doesn’t really. Nothing ever will. 

But for right now, alone with nothing but the smell of petrichor and the shivers wracking him that remind him he’s alive, he can pretend. He can pretend, and he can be happy, for just a moment.


	49. Humanity

"Please,” Malcolm begs. “Please, stop. Please.”

“What, Whitly? You really that much of a pussy? I barely touched you!”

Malcolm cradles his head, curled into a ball on the muddy ground, as the group of boys surround him beside the school. No one will come, he knows. No one ever does. The only thing he can do is hope they don’t break anything...again. A plea for humanity is something absolutely useless here.

“He’s crying,” one of them laughs, kicking him. “Faggot!”

“Let’s go. See you tomorrow, Whitly.”

And Malcolm cries, wishing he knew why he was born deserving this.


	50. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for (what I think is) forced femininity (forcing makeup on him) and mentions of like living dolls…? This some real twilight zone ass shit I-

“There.” The man caps the lipstick in his hand, sets it back on the vanity table. “You look beautiful. My newest doll.”

Malcolm opens his eyes and looks at himself in the mirror. He whimpers softly into the cloth behind his teeth, and the man wipes away the tears that start to fall, kisses the hair he spent an hour curling.

Malcolm didn’t mean to fall prey to this killer and his obsession. He didn’t mean to end up here. 

“Don’t cry, doll. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

Malcolm watches mascara lines run down his cheeks, and then closes his eyes.


	51. Rape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for non-graphic rape

Malcolm is smiling. 

He's high again. Maybe he never isn't.

His friend is beside him on the bed. He's sedated with pot in his lungs and warmth in his veins, and he trusts.

He shouldn't.

His friend tickles him, laughing, then crushes their lips together.

Things were fine.

Malcolm was smiling. 

Now he cries. 

Now he pleads. 

"Stop—please—"

"Shush, baby." Hands on his belt, his body, never leaving, never stopping. “I’ll make it good for you, too.”

Walking back to his dorm in the rain—dazed, alone, _ashamed_ —is when Malcolm vows to pretend it never happened at all.


	52. Crack

Eve leaves.

She walks away, apologizes to him but reassures him that he never meant a thing, and Malcolm’s already breaking.

She shuts the door, and he cracks.

He slumps to his knees, arms wrapped around himself, and starts to cry.

Starts to sob. 

Rocks and gasps and weeps for what he’s lost, what he realizes he never had in the first place. 

“Come back—” he wails. “Come back—” 

He knows she won’t.

She’s gone. Long gone.

He curls onto his side, scratching down his arms and pulling hair, and feels like he’s dying.

Yet terribly alive.

And terribly alone.


	53. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pry this ship from my cold dead hands (ง'̀-'́)ง

Maybe it’s the concussion, or the adrenaline. Maybe it’s both.

But when Vijay grasps his shoulder, Malcolm leans towards him, and Vijay only hesitates a second before pushing his lips against Malcolm’s. 

Malcolm melts into Vijay’s arms as they wrap around him, as Vijay dips him back and cups the back of his head and kisses him like they never stopped, like they’ve been together all this time instead of apart for so long. 

_ “Malcolm,”  _ Vijay murmurs, just as loving as before _ , _ and Malcolm smiles, feels okay,  _ happy,  _ for the first time in nearly forever.

And Malcolm kisses him again.


	54. Non-Consensual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for non-consensual touching.

Please,” Malcolm says, straining against the ropes above his head as JT grunts into his gag, forced to watch as their captor strokes his hands down Malcolm’s body, settling on his hips.

“You’re really just...stunning,” their captor purrs, digging his nails into Malcolm’s skin, then slipping one hand up and under his shirt, over his chest.

Malcolm tries not to react, but he can’t help the whimper of terror that escapes his mouth as the touches continue.

“I’ll have you...but not yet.”

Malcolm breathes out, but isn’t relieved.

They’re not going to get out of this, are they?


	55. Collapsed

Malcolm doesn’t know when his legs give out. He just suddenly hears his mother and Ainsley gasping, and they say…

Something. He doesn't understand what.

What he did to Watkins…

What Watkins did to _him…_

He reaches down, touching the wound at his side.

Hurts. It _hurts._ Dear God, everything suddenly hurts so _much_. His hand, his body, his head…why is everything so...so blurry...?

“Oh, my dear boy,” his father laughs from the room’s corner. “I do believe you’re going to faint.”

Malcolm tries to say something.

Instead, he collapses forward into his mother’s safe arms, and sleeps.


	56. Begging

“What did you just say?”

Malcolm whimpers. He coughs up water, chest heaving as he fights to breathe through lungs on fire. His captor’s hand is still grasping hard at his hair, ready to dunk him back into the bucket he’s kneeling in front of like he has been for what might be _hours_ , but he can’t _—he can’t._ Not anymore.

“P-p- _please,_ ” Malcolm rasps. He sounds small, even to himself. He sounds pathetic. He _is_ pathetic. “I’ll...I’ll do what you want...just... _please_...can’t…”

“Oh, my. You beg so _pretty._ ”

And then, he pushes Malcolm down again anyways.


	57. Unhealthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for self-harm.

Malcolm braces himself against the wall. 

He's dizzy because he hasn't been eating. He's thirsty because he hasn't been hydrating.

His head hurts because he's been slamming it up against the wall in punishment.

His fucking fault.  _ Slam.  _ The deaths this case are his fault.  _ Slam.  _ He's a failure.  _ Slam.  _ He should have finished his profile sooner.  _ Slam, slam— _

He drops to the floor. Blood trickles from his nose. His forehead is tender, badly bruised. He'll blame it on a terror tomorrow when Gil asks.

But Gil will know. He always does.

He sniffles, and chokes, and then he cries.


	58. Forced To Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vague implication of past assault 
> 
> also did u know I have a totally alternate-ending dark!messiah? it's pretty awful. i love it. :)

"Please.”

“You know begging won’t help, little Malcolm," John purrs, holding Malcolm’s shaking hand steady, slipping the knife into it and lining it up to the throat of the woman beneath them.

“Not again,” Malcolm whispers. His body trembles against John’s, and John nuzzles his hair. “John, please. Please.”

“It’s so easy. We’ve done it before, my beloved. One day I won’t have to guide you. You’ll be eager. Just as eager as you are for my touch…”

Malcolm whimpers. He just wants to go home.

The knife slides forward, and he knows he’s never going to go home again.


	59. Hero

"Well, now.”

Malcolm breathes hard, shakes even harder, but glares up at their captor in as much defiance as he can muster up. After days of torture, it’s not as much as he would like, but it’s something. It’s enough.

Gil lays unconscious on the floor, unable to take another round.

And Malcolm stands in front of him, a rusty nail he dragged from the floor clutched between bloody fingers.

“Look at you, little hero.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Drop it, and I’ll only hurt you."

Slowly, Malcolm obeys.

And then loudly starts to weep as the man keeps his word.


	60. Regret *implied possible MCD*

"I’m so sorry, Gil.”

Gil lays sprawled on the ground, his head in Malcolm’s lap. He reaches up, grasps the back of Malcolm's neck with a bloody hand, and smiles weakly at him. 

“‘S okay, kid,” he manages.

“No,” Malcolm sobs, “it’s not. It’s not. This is my fault, mine, I _—_ just please. Please hold on, okay? They went to get help. Just stay with me.”

“Always be with you,” Gil says, tapping just over Malcolm’s heart as his eyes start to flutter. “‘Kay? Remember that.”

“Gil,” Malcolm whimpers. “D-don’t go.”

Gil is quiet, but he keeps breathing.

For now.


	61. Addicted

Malcolm stands outside Gil’s house, scratching at his arm, rocking up and down on his heels as he debates whether or not to knock.

It’s five in the morning. Too early. But if he goes home, he’s going to do something stupid. Something bad.

When Gil comes to the door, half-asleep, Malcolm latches onto him with a groan.

“I bought something,” he mutters, shoving the bag of pills into Gil’s pocket. “I’m s-so-sorry.”

“Oh, kid,” Gil says, kissing his head. “Don’t be. You came to me, and that’s what matters. Thank you.”

Malcolm sniffles, and lets Gil lead him inside.


	62. Dream

Watching Malcolm dream is a torture all its own.

The boy pants, fingers twitching, arms pulling at their restraints. He writhes in his sweat-soaked blankets, whining and whimpering, and then cries out. Once, twice, again. Teeth grinding against the mouth-guard, face twisted up into a grimace of sheer agony.

Gil wants to wake him. 

Instead, Malcolm wakes himself with a scream, and Gil is beside him in an instant, petting his hair, careful of all the stitching from earlier.

“Ssh, I’m here. I’m here.” He holds Malcolm close, and Malcolm relaxes.

“G...Gil?”

“Yeah. Still here. You’re safe, kid. Promise.”


	63. Twitch

Malcolm hasn’t moved in too long. 

JT is scared. Terrified, even. He’s too far away to see if Malcolm’s even breathing, slumped over himself on the floor, wrists bound behind him.

“ _ Kid. _ ”

Still nothing.

Oh, God. How is JT going to tell Gil that Malcolm is  _ dead?  _

That’s if he ever gets out himself...

“Kid,  _ please. _ Bright.”

Malcolm’s finger twitches. JT hears him breathe out a soft whimper, and then he’s quiet again.

But fuck, it’s enough. It’s something. It renews JT’s strength, and he fights harder against the ropes.

“Hang on, Bright. I’m gonna get us out of here.”


	64. Hesitation

Malcolm is shaking. Always shaking. Weak from starvation, from torture, from sleep deprivation, he holds the knife in an unsteady grip, pressing it against his captor’s throat.

“What are you going to do with that, little boy? Do you really have it in you to kill me?”

Malcolm just wants to go  _ home. _ Please.  _ Home. _

But he hesitates. He sobs, shakes even harder, and the man takes the moment to rip the knife from Malcolm’s grasp.

Malcolm slumps to his knees, and his captor smiles. 

“That’s a good boy,” he says. “But I’m afraid now you have to be punished.”


	65. Unaware

Malcolm isn’t sure what’s happening.

His head hurts. He tastes blood. He’s being held on his feet by someone, but his legs won’t support him when he tries. 

“Take another step and he dies!” the man behind him shouts, right in his ringing ear.

“Drop your weapon! Now! We won’t tell you again!”

Malcolm wants to apologize to Gil. He hadn’t meant to get himself into trouble on Gil’s birthday.

There’s more yelling, but he’s fading out quickly. A gunshot echoes. He’s dropped to the ground.

And then he slips back into darkness, blissfully unaware of the firefight around him.


End file.
